


a study in catches

by headlong



Series: stars in the void [1]
Category: Fate/Grand Order
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Gen, no spoilers for jp server
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-17
Updated: 2020-11-17
Packaged: 2021-03-10 02:01:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,859
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27605972
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/headlong/pseuds/headlong
Summary: Kadoc visits the Clock Tower, and somehow gets made an offer he can’t refuse.
Relationships: Kadoc Zemlupus & Kirschtaria Wodime
Series: stars in the void [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2023301
Comments: 6
Kudos: 35





	a study in catches

**Author's Note:**

> this is hopefully going to be the first part of a clock tower au about the crypters, though i'll hold off on making a series for it until i have more than one instalment. also for what it's worth, i'm up to date with jp server; i really doubt there'll be explicit spoilers in this au, and if there are i'll make sure they're tagged, but it'll definitely inflect the way i write these characters.

“All right,” says Kirschtaria Wodime. He nudges a stack of documents aside, then leans back in his chair. “I reread the letter you sent me, and I know you explained yourself there, but I’d like to ask anyway. What brings you to the Faculty of Astromancy?”

Wodime’s office is all pale wood, the desk and the bookshelves and the floorboards, and the man who sits at its centre is paler still. In the afternoon sunlight, he’s burnished into a stark impression of gold and white. Except for the blue of his eyes, perfectly calm, and fixed on Kadoc.

And that’s an excellent question. The honest answer is that Kadoc’s hit the limits of what he can do with magecraft on his own, and he’s begrudgingly decided to make inquiries at the Clock Tower; and that, rather than trying to slog through entrance exams, he’s spent the last couple of weeks bombing interviews with most of its senior magi. And that just because of how things had happened, the Astromancy department is the only place he has yet to try. But it’s not like he can just say that, not at this point, and not to a mage this important.

His interviewer for today is simultaneously exactly what he’d pictured, and nothing like it. Wodime’s a lot younger than Kadoc had been expecting, for one, even though he’s just the acting Lord of this faculty, covering for his superior. And it’s definitely weird that he’s wearing long sleeves and gloves in early summer, even though his office is pleasantly cool. But otherwise, he seems the very image of an elite mage, the kind with money to burn and a family line going back millennia, the kind that looks down on magi like Kadoc as instinctively as breathing. And here Kadoc is, down to his last hope and squaring up anyway. 

“I’m… interested in learning more about it?”

Fucking idiot. Of course he’s at the Clock Tower because he wants to learn, and shame flares through him for giving such a stupid answer. But Wodime doesn’t blink, even though it’s probably already obvious how the rest of this will go, and just nods.

“There are too many Continental families for me to recognise them all, but I do stay informed about ones with similar magecraft. So I’m surprised I’ve never heard of the Zemlupus line.”

“That’s because we’re, uh. Not really that into astromancy. I’m the odd one out.”

“You’re a scholar, then.”

Somehow, this is almost worse than the meetings he’d had with mages who’d told him he was useless, or had laughed at him. It’s difficult to tell what Wodime might be thinking when his tone is so neutral; but still, Kadoc knows it can’t be anything good. He hunches his shoulders.

“Yeah. It’s not really our thing, but I guess I want to learn everything I can.”

“That’s a noble sentiment. All right, Kadoc – may I call you that? Why don’t we move into my workshop, and you can show me what you can do.”

“With astromancy?”

“With everything you can.” Wodime folds his gloved hands together, forming a tiny snow-white mountain. “I’d be remiss to ignore your other talents, even if they lie outside my expertise.”

There has to be some kind of catch here. Or at least a rational explanation for why he’s having the most success so far with this stiff, stuffy magus of stars. And maybe the catch is going to be the examination itself, which will no doubt reveal exactly what a waste of space Kadoc is, and then Wodime will abandon this placid mask and sneer and send him slinking off home. Because he’s suffered through enough of these to know how the pattern goes, and there’s no reason this one will go any differently.

And yet. Kadoc might be setting himself up to be humiliated even further if he agrees, but he’s also not stupid enough to blow this by not even trying.

“Yeah, okay. Whenever you’re ready.”

Wodime stands from behind the desk, and motions for him to follow. The next room over is full of the same light wood as the office, but it’s arranged so there’s a large empty space in the middle, presumably for doing magecraft. But the effect is slightly undermined by how cluttered the perimeter is: one wall is taken up by cabinets, but there are also all sorts of odd instruments, some telescopes and some more bizarre, which Kadoc wouldn’t know how to begin to use. Wodime passes a large device which looks like a spinning top trapped between two glass lenses, and takes a seat on the floor. His cape fans out around him, pale blue on white, looking no less ridiculous than it had at his desk. Then he gestures at the ground in front of him, and Kadoc sits too.

“All right. Let’s begin with your fundamentals, then.”

And when Wodime says  _ fundamentals_, he really does mean the basics. He starts by making Kadoc try to manipulate the elements, even the ones he insists on being useless with, and they move to more specialised things from there. Kadoc is made to seek out the nearest leylines; to rattle off the answers to questions about magecraft, and different schools of magical theory. He trips over some of his incantations at first, thrown off by how intensely the Clock Tower magus is watching him, even though Wodime only speaks to give him instructions. His family’s Magic Crest burns through the skin of his back, a familiar heat and pressure.

Wodime has him try channel mana through some of his strange astronomical instruments. He brings out a box of precious stones, and has Kadoc evaluate them with magecraft. Something almost seems to cross Wodime’s face during the tests he sets about familiars, asking Kadoc to animate a dead rat and demonstrate his command over it; but when the exercise is over, that flicker seems to have vanished, tucked away once again behind that face like marble. Kadoc is made to try and form curses, to transmute one substance into another. To try heal a surface wound, and then a deeper cut, though thankfully nothing more severe than that. To store magical energy in an object, and then draw it out again. And that’s just the beginning of what he’s asked, and they continue on through kinds of magecraft he’s never even heard of. By the time Wodime finally calls a stop, it’s been maybe two hours, and the light in the room has shifted from white to a lazy golden. Kadoc’s more than glad for the reprieve, soaked with sweat and with his magic circuits feeling like they ache in him. He’s definitely going to pay for overtaxing himself tomorrow – it’s been a while since he’s tried to do this much spellwork, even though he’d wound up failing at most of it – but giving up midway would have been the worse option.

Wodime himself appears to be completely unaffected, though. And he certainly hasn’t made it clear, at any point, what he actually thinks of Kadoc and his tenth-rate magecraft. He sits perfectly still for a moment longer, and then he speaks.

“Can I be perfectly honest with you?”

Kadoc can’t think of anything he’d like less. “Yeah, sure.”

“You have absolutely no talent for astromancy. And, to be frank, very little for any type of magecraft taught at the Clock Tower at all.”

And something about the way he says it, like he’s talking about the weather and not the summation of two hundred years of Zemlupus family research and a decade of personal struggle, really pisses Kadoc off. Because he doesn’t take criticism from magi who’ve never had to try in their lives, even if they could obliterate him with a single word. Something snaps in him, something that’s been building for a long time, and he jerks his chin up.

“You think I don’t know that? Every other mage I’ve spoken to here has told me the same fucking thing. I know I should stop having delusions of grandeur, or of being recognised as a mage someday, but I can’t. Because this is the only thing I’ve ever been halfway good at, and I still won’t amount to anything. So yeah, Wodime. Thanks for nothing.”

Kadoc only realises he must have been shouting by the weight of the silence that follows, and he balls his hands into fists. And even though he knows he shouldn’t have said anything, knows he’s probably destroyed his reputation beyond any hope of repair, he can’t bring himself to regret it. Because even though his outburst had been ugly, it had also been true. So he waits, heart hammering, body still poised for a fight despite his exhaustion. But Wodime just looks… thoughtful, almost. Not angry, not yet, though he’s inscrutable enough that he might still be building to it.

“I wasn’t finished,” Wodime says at last. Like he sees useless mages implode in front of him all the time; which, to be fair, he actually might. “And that wasn’t what I meant. Because you do have one talent I’m interested in. And that I suspect Marisbury – Lord Animusphere – will want to see it for himself, when he returns.”

“…Huh?”

“I said, you do have one talent I’m interested –”

“No, jeez, I heard what you said. But this is a joke, right? Or you’re playing some kind of trick on me, cause I wasted your time, and then yelled at you?”

“This isn’t a joke or a trick, Kadoc. And I don’t mind that you shouted. Nor, for that matter, have you wasted any of my time. I’m quite serious.”

Kadoc squints, adrenaline still thrumming through him. “Can I at least know what it is I did? Or am meant to have done?”

“It was the way your magecraft felt when I asked you to create a familiar. I believe you might have a strong affinity for a certain kind of… hmm. Not evocation, exactly, but a particular kind of phenomenon adjacent to it.”

“I still don’t get it at all.”

Wodime recrosses his legs. “Then let me put it this way. I don’t know how familiar you are with magecraft outside of Europe, but have you heard of a Japanese ritual known as the Fuyuki Holy Grail War?”

Though Kadoc wracks his brain, absolutely nothing surfaces from its depths. “No idea. I mean, I know some Arthurian legend, but I don’t remember the Grail being linked to any war stories.”

“That’s all right. In short, it’s a modern ritual where seven magi summon seven Heroic Spirits, who are incarnations of heroes from myth or history. Then they fight to eliminate one another, with the winning pair taking possession of the Grail, which is supposed to grant any wish. Though the Grail used in the War isn’t the same one from the legends, but an artifact named for it.”

And that’s when it all clicks: when it becomes obvious where the catch is, and what Wodime’s trying to lead him towards. Kadoc bolts upright. “No, no, no. No way. You’re trying to draft me into this war, aren’t you. All this talk about affinity, and my so called-talent, and you’re just buttering me up so I’ll die for you.”

Wodime’s expression pulls into the slightest frown. “Oh. No, I’m afraid I’ve worded this badly. I’m not trying to enlist you for anything, Kadoc, or asking you to lay down your life. I was only naming the Fuyuki War as an example.”

“Then what  _ are _ you doing? Because the more you talk, the less I understand.”

“All right. I’ve tried to skirt around the point, because I’m not sure how much I’m allowed to disclose. So, if I say any more, I need you to swear not to let the details leave this room.”

Kadoc has to resist the urge to roll his eyes at that. Instead, he takes a steadying breath, though it only mostly works. “It’s not like I have anyone to tell, but okay.”

“Good. Well, then. Marisbury hasn’t told me the full extent of his plans, not yet, but I know he’s trying to replicate the summoning system of the Holy Grail War. And you’d be an ideal member for this project, considering what you’ve shown me so far. Now, I won’t ask you to sign up for anything, especially without knowing what you’re getting into, but I’d like you to at least consider discussing it with him.”

And doesn’t that feel surreal, being told that a Lord of the Clock Tower might want to give him the time of day. Not least because this supposed talent of his, which Wodime is praising so highly, is news to Kadoc. “There’s nothing about familiars or evocation in my Magic Crest, though.”

“If that’s the case, then I think it can’t be a product of your particular magecraft, or even your bloodline. It’s hard to be sure without doing a detailed examination, but I believe it might be innate to you.”

“Me?”

“You.”

“And there’s really no catch? At all? Because I know you have to be hiding something.”

“Ah.” Wodime’s mouth twists in a direction that, coming from anyone else, would seem sheepish. “The catch is that Marisbury’s on a sabbatical of sorts, and hasn’t told me – or anyone – how long he’ll be away. So either you can return home, and I can contact you once he comes back, or you can stay in London until then.”

“Stay in London,” Kadoc echoes, and Wodime would be justified in thinking he’s an idiot by now, judging by everything he’s said in the last minute or two. He makes himself kick his mind into gear, but results continue to be mixed. “Like, at the Clock Tower?”

“Well, there’s no obligation for you to do that. I realise it must be asking a lot, to have you idle in England indefinitely, waiting for Marisbury’s return. But yes, it would be at the Clock Tower. And, if you did choose that option, you’d be more than welcome to make use of the facilities here.”

He has to weigh that up. On one hand, staying means he’ll have to deal with the kind of elite magi he hates, who inevitably hate him right back, on a daily basis. And having to deal with Wodime himself, who’s still a complete unknown. But, on the other… he’s been chosen for this, whatever this mysterious Animusphere project actually is, and it might even be a job that only he can do. There’s something rising in him, something unfamiliar; and it occurs to him that it might be hope.

“Yeah, I’ll do it. Stay here and meet with him, I mean. If you’ll really have me.”

“That,” Wodime says, “is excellent news. It’s a pleasure to have you along, Kadoc.”

Pretty words, but there’s no guarantee he means them. When he holds out a hand to shake on it, Kadoc hunts for any sign that he’s lying, in both his face and his grip. But even though nothing like that seems to shine through, Kadoc resolves to maintain a healthy distrust of him. When they finally break off, a little awkwardly, the phantom sensation of Wodime’s glove lingers against his skin.

“Now, there’ll be all sorts of arrangements that need to be made. If it’s agreeable, I’d like to organise other teachers for you as well, because they’ll be able to cover things I can’t. I’m mostly hoping a colleague of mine in Spiritual Evocation might tutor you in that, though she might be too busy. And, regardless, I’d like you to get properly settled in before anything.”

“Uh,” Kadoc manages. “Settled in where? I mean, I booked a hotel, but I’m not rich enough to keep renting a room forever. I can start applying for jobs, but –”

“No need. Working would only distract you from your studies, after all, and I have an ideal solution. Since you’re my responsibility, I hope you’ll be amenable to moving in with me. Of course, I don’t mean to force anything, and it’s up to you. But I have plenty of space.”

Kadoc boggles at him, entirely lost for words. This must be the power of the scion of an ancient magus bloodline: the expectation that he can just speak things into being, no matter how ridiculous. Because unofficially studying at the Clock Tower, among magi who rightly think Kadoc isn’t worth dirt, might not kill him – but living with one of them definitely will. Not just because Wodime looks like he’s never done anything normal in his life, or because Kadoc’s too fond of both privacy and loud music to enjoy living with people. But because this suggestion is equal parts absurd and viable, and because he’s either going to have to choose his sanity or his financial stability, and because that means it isn’t even a choice. To think he’d been so wary of possible pitfalls all afternoon, when all along  _ this _ had been the catch waiting to ensnare him. And what a colossal catch it is.

“Yeah,” says Kadoc, already exhausted. “Why not.”

**Author's Note:**

> please forgive any slight errors in lore or unintentional bouncing between fan-translated and localised terms, i've been squinting increasingly desperately at the type-moon wiki for the last month and this is the best i've got
> 
> [twitter.](https://twitter.com/farewellarcadia)


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